Contact
by English Toffee
Summary: Meg Thatcher, newly appointed inspector of the RCMP's Quebec Division, is unhappy. Trouble is, she doesn't know why. Will she be able to face the biggest mistake of her career and correct it? Or will fear stand in the way? Companion of sorts to 'Regrets'
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Not mine._

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Someone was knocking.

Meg Thatcher put down her pen with an irritated sigh and lifted her head from the stack of files on her desk.

'Come in.' Tilting her neck from side to side, she winced at the stiffness that never seemed to quite go away these days. She removed her reading glasses and blinked a couple of times until the room came into focus.

'I hope I'm not disturbing you.'

Meg bit back a groan when she saw who was standing there.

'What is it, Pincent?'

The young man awkwardly cleared his throat. 'There's a package for you, Sir. They would like you to sign for it.'

'Thank you, Constable. I'll be right out.'

He saluted with a vigour that betrayed his inexperience and slammed the door behind him. Meg rubbed her temples.

Although she had only been working at the Quebec division of the RCMP for two years, she had been an inspector for a much longer time. Sometimes she wondered if she could even remember being a recruit, if she had ever been that young, that inexperienced. It seemed like she had always been too old for her age. Officers with more seniority, and even fellow inspectors, were often surprised to learn that she was only in her late thirties.

Meg knew she was lucky to have been accepted into the training program immediately and then to have risen through the ranks so quickly, but she had never been surprised. Joining the RCMP had been a dream of hers since childhood and she'd tailored her life accordingly. She knew she was driven and utterly committed to her job.

_Perhaps too committed..._

There had only been once when she had regretted that decision. Only once when she had cursed her inability to keep a piece of her life for herself—

_No. I'm not getting into this now._

Meg slipped on her high-heels, which she had discarded somewhere between files 8 and 15, and stood slowly, carefully stretching her vertebrae. She had just opened the office door when her phone began to ring shrilly. Expelling a frustrated breath, she turned and grabbed for the receiver.

'Bonjour. La GRC du Québec. Inspecteur Thatcher ici.' She listened for a moment and then switched to English without missing a beat. 'Yes, I did work with M. Cloutier at one point.' She frowned in confusion, 'but that was—oh.' She drew in a breath. 'How…' she paused. 'I see. Well, thank you for telling me. Tell his family I send my—sorry?' She closed her eyes and ran her other hand through her hair. 'I'm not sure I heard correctly. The new superintendent would like me to attend the funeral?'

_Thank you Superintendent, but I'd rather have all my teeth pulled then attend that rat's memorial service. _

'Fine,' she said shortly. 'If you could send me the information, I will arrange my travel plans.' She groped around for a pen and some paper. 'Uh huh. Sure.' Cradling the receiver against her shoulder, she quickly jotted down the necessary information. 'Thank you. Goodbye.' Dropping the phone into its cradle, she collapsed back into her chair and sunk her head into her heads.

'_Damn it._'

Cloutier. She'd spent eight months under his supervision and he'd made them a waking nightmare. Wherever she went, he was always there: getting her to work late shifts, come in weekends, attend company receptions with him. Saying her name in that tone of voice that made her hot with shame and anger. When she thought of it, she wanted to kick herself for not having the experience or confidence to confront his behaviour—for even taking it for granted. For telling herself that's just how things were for women in male-dominated professions. For not realizing just how wrong it had been until she was transferred to Chicago. Until she was sitting there with Cloutier, _discussing business by candlelight for Christ sake_, and Fraser had walked in and looked at her with his steady gaze that made her want to sink into the floor and die of shame.

_Fraser…_

_Not Now._

Wrenching her mind away from that path, she tore the top page from her notepad and picked up her phone again. She needed a secretary to book her a plane ticket and hotel. It looked like she was going to Ottawa.

The knocking began again.

Meg dug her nails into her palms and swallowed a scream of frustration.

'_What is it?'_

'Uh, Sir?'

'Right. The package.' She forced herself to take a slow breath. 'Just tell them to leave the form here, Constable.' He turned to leave. 'Oh, and could you please find someone to book me a plane ticket to Ottawa for tomorrow if possible.' He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off. 'And Constable? Bring a large cup of black coffee with you when you return.'

_I'm going to need it. _

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_Well. At least that's over with._

Closing the hotel door behind her and collapsing against it, Meg sighed. The funeral had been draining. They always were. Even though Cloutier had died of nothing more serious than a heart attack, the RCMP believed strongly in honouring their own. There had been at least several hundred officers there, all in full dress uniform. They were expected to stand there, sombre and still, for the whole ceremony. It was a measure of respect.

_And public relations, _Meg thought wryly. There were usually at least two rows of media personnel at these things.

_Cloutier didn't deserve this ceremony. Superintendent or not._

Meg bent over and unlaced her regulation boots then quickly peeled off her red serge. She moved through the motions with practiced ease, despite the fact that she hadn't worn her uniform much lately.

_Red suits you._

She smiled wanly and hung it up carefully in the tiny hotel closet.

Slipping on some casual clothes, she walked over and looked out the window. It was typical weather for March in Ottawa: cold and gusty. She considered going for a walk, but felt too drained after last night's red-eye flight from Quebec and opted for a drink at the hotel bar instead.

She made her way down the hall, occasionally nodding or smiling at the other officers milling around. The sign at the front of the bar instructed her to seat herself, so she slid onto an empty seat and flagged the bartender.

'Just a glass of your house wine.'

He nodded and set a glass in front of her. She thanked him politely and drank it in silence, her eyes wandering aimlessly from the bar to the windows and the darkening streets beyond.

A minute later, she choked on her wine and stood up quickly.

The bartender looked over in concern. 'Are you okay?'

She didn't answer, but riffled through her pockets for the appropriate change and put it down with trembling hands. 'Thanks,' she threw over her shoulder as she rushed out into the lobby.

_I thought I saw…_

Hardly breathing, she rushed outside. And stopped short. The streets were virtually deserted. In the distance, she dimly heard the hiss of a passing car.

What were you thinking Meg? No one would be out this late in this kind of weather.

_He would, _her mind whispered.

She stood frozen as the wind whipped her hair around her face in a dark cloud.

_I thought I saw…the back of his head, his shoulders, a flash of white fur. How many Mounties have wolves as pets?_

She couldn't help it; couldn't stop his name from escaping.

'Fraser…' Her breath was visible against the streetlights.

She didn't really expect an answer. Finally noticing the cold, she returned inside and stumbled back to her room. Not bothering to remove her clothes, she got into the bed and closed her eyes.

_Get a hold of yourself. It's over._

It never began.

She didn't fall asleep until her return flight began its final descent into Quebec.

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_A/N: The funeral details may not be entirely accurate as televised RCMP funerals are rare. In regards to March in Ottawa, I've only been in November. Nonetheless, March in most of Canada is cold. Also, GRCFrench acronym for the RCMP. _

_As always, feedback is appreciated. I've planned to complete this in four to five parts but we'll see._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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'Inspecteur?'

'Inspecteur.'

_'Marguerite.'_

Meg dropped the pen she had been tapping absentmindedly and stood up, discomfited.

'Good morning, Sir.'

The older man standing before her desk gave her a pained smile. 'Jean, please. There's no need for such formalities day to day.'

Meg made a noncommittal sound and looked away. Deputy Commissioner Jean LaCriox, the head of the RCMP 'C' division and the man to whom she reported had been insisting the same thing for almost two years now. It made Meg's skin crawl, though she hid it well.

_LaCriox is not the first person to call you by your given name. Cloutier—_

—Is dead.

'Is there something you need, _Sir?'_

He moved until he was standing barely a foot away from her. 'Well, _Marguerite_, since you've come, things have been running much more smoothly and there were a couple of files I didn't have time to look over.' He lowered his voice intimately. 'There's no one else I'd trust to look through them. Would you mind?'

'No, not at all.' She stepped back.

He mirrored her action and leaned in to examine her face. 'Are you getting enough sleep, Marguerite? You look exhausted. This isn't too much for you, is it? I could always arrange for a transfer…'

She'd heard this before from Cloutier. An expression of concern carrying a thinly veiled threat: Don't forget who's in charge here. She cut in coldly,

'I'm fine, Sir. No cause for concern.'

'Good, good.' He clasped her shoulder and she just restrained herself from shaking off the hand.

He cleared his throat. 'Well, I'm off to lunch then. If you ever need to talk…' He left the sentence hanging.

She nodded and stood there until he'd left. Then, without saying a word, she threw the stack of files he'd given her at the closed door with a jerk of her arm and watched in silence as the white sheets of paper fluttered slowly to the ground.

The gesture did little to help and Meg wished she had something a little more breakable to throw. Instead, grabbing her coat from the back of her chair, she quickly left the office, almost running over Constable Pincent in her haste.

'Constable,' Her voice sounded flat and strained in her ears. 'I'm leaving early today. Please notify Deputy Commissioner LaCroix if you see him.'

She didn't wait for him to reply.

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It wasn't until she was sitting at her kitchen table with a cup of tea cradled in one hand that Meg's heartbeat finally began to slow.

Why had LaCriox's behaviour bothered her so much today? She'd put up with similar innuendos ever since becoming an inspector and trading in her serge for a skirt and heels. She'd learned how to deal with the unwanted attention by cultivating an icy reputation or occasionally, by taking an outside date to receptions and parties—to re-enforce the message that she was unavailable. Gradually, she'd also learned how to ignore the comments, observing that men usually stopped if they felt they weren't getting anywhere.

_It's just…_

A part of her had thought that all that would end with Cloutier. The truth was that it took more out of her than she cared to admit. Over the years, she'd made very few true friends. Only a handful of people knew who she was under the imposing facade. Or at least who she'd been as a student and a field officer.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember what had been so different.

_You laughed more back then. Life was straightforward. Dangerous sometimes, but how long has it been since you've felt that rush of adrenaline, the thrill that comes from the chase? The pride that comes from fighting to 'maintain the right.'_

She knew the answer.

_Not since you were throwing eggs with—_

With a dull thud, her cup hit the wood, splashing cold tea down her arm and onto the carpet. She jumped up to grab a cloth and turned her full attention to mopping up the spill.

What was wrong with her?

_I need—_

What? A vacation? A new job? She had absolutely no idea what she needed. Something was just _missing_ and Meg was at a loss for what to do about it. She was successful, respected, second in charge of an important division of the RCMP. Maybe this was all just a reaction to her communication with LaCriox…

An image rose unexpectedly to the surface of her mind: _dark fir trees, jagged slate mountains, and her as a child, sitting beside her father on the bank of a river._ It only took a moment for the memory to come back; it had been one of the few times she had spent alone with her father. She remembered it had been late spring or early summer and he'd gotten a week's leave from his duties. They'd gone out camping, just the two of them. She'd been eight…maybe nine, and he'd taken her to Ross River, just north of his current post at Fort Liard. She remembered how the fresh Yukon air, mercifully free of black flies, had chilled her lungs and how her father had shown her the proper way to thread a line.

'Nothing clears your mind like the northern air, Maggie,' he'd whispered as he guided the wire through her clumsy hands.

_I need to get away._

She knew instinctively that's what her mind was telling her. But there was no way LaCroix would let her take time off now. And who could she stay with? She hadn't had time to make friends in Quebec yet.

She mulled it over as she tidied up and sorted through the stack of mail on her table. Bills, correspondence from work. She tossed a couple pieces of junk mail into the trash.

Wait. What was that?

Something had slipped out from between two flyers and landed on the kitchen floor. She bent over and picked it up curiously. It was a postcard from Yellowknife. She turned it over slowly.

_'Dear Meg,_

I hope this reaches you. I sent it to the central office in Ottawa with instructions to forward it to your current address. (It's hard to keep up with the news in Paulatuk!)

How are you? It's been such a long time since our last visit. Do you remember after graduation when we promised not to lose touch? Well, I've got some exciting news. Robert and I finally got married. You remember Rob Mackenzie, right? I have to run, but don't forget, you're welcome in Paulatuk any time.

Fondest regards,

Sue Cabot-Mackenzie'

Meg set it down thoughtfully and went to put the kettle back on the heat.

Sue Cabot had been her roommate during basic training. Thrown into such close quarters, it was little surprise that the two women had formed a strong bond. Between the rigorous work and long hours, they had relied on each other for support, from debriefing after a draining simulation to going out for a drink on their rare nights off. Sue had been the life of the party; short, blond and gregarious, she came from a horse farm in Canmore, Alberta and had an easy, open manner that made her popular with the male students.

Meg, taller and darker and coming from an isolated childhood in the North, was quiet and quickly developed a reputation for being frosty, aloof and married to her work. At seventeen, a year before entering training, she'd spent a summer modelling in Paris, but her subsequent experiences with the opposite sex had made her wary of exposing herself in such a way again. Sue didn't pry, but tried to draw Meg out of her shell, occasionally succeeding, but more often meeting with a sharp refusal.

Nevertheless, when the two women graduated, Meg at the top of their class and Sue somewhere in the middle, they had vowed to keep in touch. At first they had been stationed together in Red Deer, but then Sue had received a transfer to Yellowknife and Meg had been promoted and since then their correspondence had dwindled. This was the first Meg had heard in five or six years.

Pouring herself another cup, Meg stared at the bull moose on the postcard's front without really seeing it.

_So, Sue's stationed in Paulatuk now._

She'd never been to the remote Inuit village, although she knew it was at the northern edge of the territories near the Beaufort Sea.

_Let's see, it's March now, almost April._

She remembered that time of year from her childhood. Days that stretched out forever, strung together by hazy mauve nights where the sun always hovered just above the horizon. Native inhabitants called spring in the Northwest Territories 'snow season' because days were long and snow was still plentiful—in other words, travel season.

_Paulatuk is about as far north as you'll get._

But would Sue, newly wed, really want a visitor or was she just being polite? Meg considered the question for a moment. No, she decided, Sue had never been one to say something she didn't mean.

Meg looked long and hard at the stack of unfinished paperwork sitting on her coffee table. At length, she picked up a pen and pulled a sheet of paper from her briefcase. She paused for a moment, pen hovering just above the blank sheet, then, with a decisive motion, began to write.

_'Dear Sue, in regards to your invitation…'_

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_A/N: Third part should be up by the end of the week, (but no promises). _


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Not mine._

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As the plane lightly touched down, Meg couldn't tear her eyes away from the window. The snow-covered tundra stretched out to the dusky horizon where it faded into the mountains, whose black peaks stood out in harsh relief against the darkening sky. Above, a pair of bald eagles glided lazily.

'Your first time out north?' The pilot called back over the noise of the engine.

Meg turned her gaze forward and shook her head briefly. 'I grew up here.'

He nodded and flipped open the cockpit door. 'It never leaves you.'

She waited for him to pull down the stairs, then grabbed her rucksack and climbed out, stretching out her stiff limbs as she went.

'You need help with your bags?'

She shook her head again and hefted the rucksack over one shoulder. 'This is it.'

He whistled, obviously impressed. 'Jesus, you pack light.'

'Mmm.' She shrugged; her father had taught her how a long time ago.

With a grunt, he pulled up the ramp and pushed it shut. 'Enjoy your trip, eh?' He got back in the cockpit and turned the plane in the direction of the metal hangar.

Meg raised her hand in thanks and started towards the small airport. Already, it was easier to breathe. The air was cool and dry and gently teased her hair free from its neat French braid.

Her euphoria faded slightly when she reached the tiny, one-room airport. Since she'd booked her flight on such short notice, there hadn't been any chance to arrange for a chartered flight to Paulatuk. Instead, she'd been forced to settle for the nearest commercial flight, which landed just west of her intended destination, in Inuvik. Paulatuk was a five-hour trip by snowmobile and although she had protested that she could make her own way there perfectly well, Sue wouldn't hear of it. Thinking of it now, she still felt a twinge of guilt, despite Sue's assurance that long journeys were routine for officers in isolated villages where supplies could be hard to come by—a fact she well knew herself.

Eventually giving in reluctantly, the two had made plans to meet two weeks hence. Meg had not been worried about recognizing Sue; Mounties were few and far between in small rural districts, _female_ Mounties even more so. But the possibility that Sue might be absent had never occurred to her. A quick glance at the small waiting area, however, revealed just that. Aside from two men—Meg's practiced gaze dismissed them as hobby fishermen—sitting at the battered coffee table, and an old man doing a crossword puzzle behind the counter, the room was deserted.

At a temporary loss, and still slightly disoriented from the long flight, she stopped to think through her options. Maybe Sue had been delayed. Or maybe she, Meg, was early. They'd agreed to meet at three. What time was it now? Setting her pack on one of the chairs, she glanced at her watch—it was quarter past—then did another visual sweep of the room.

'Are you Meg, then?'

Startled, she swung her gaze around to the man behind the counter, who had abandoned his crossword in order to examine her.

Snapping almost unconsciously into Inspector mode, she nodded crisply. 'Yes, I am. Why do you ask?'

Unperturbed, he poured himself a cup of coffee and glanced down at his desk. 'Meg _Thatcher_?'

She nodded again.

'Doug Ferguson. I run the place.' Her mind still on Sue's absence, she forced a polite smile and waited for him to continue.

'Someone called about a half hour ago with a message for you.' He scanned the note. 'A Constable Sue Mackenzie. Told me to tell you that…' he stopped to peer at the message in question, '…something's come up and she won't be able to meet you but she's asked the Inuvik branch to send someone over.' He looked up. 'Does that make any sense to you?'

"Yes, thank you.' The tension building in her neck and shoulders receded somewhat—at least it was nothing serious or Sue would have said more—but her thoughts were still racing with possible reasons for the delay.

He shrugged. 'Sure thing. Coffee?'

'Thank you, no,' she replied distractedly, glancing at her watch again. 'Tell me, how long would it take to drive here from town.'

'Mmm. Maybe an hour. Depends on where from.'

'The RCMP station.'

He nodded slowly. 'Yeah, about an hour if the weather holds.'

Meg followed his gaze out the window towards the pale sky. 'Are you expecting a storm?'

He shrugged again.

With a quiet sigh, she grabbed her pack, pulled out a book she'd bought at the airport convenience store in Quebec and settled into the nearest chair. It could be half an hour yet until anyone came and besides, she hadn't had time for recreational reading since…well, since her transfer.

'So, you're from the RCMP.'

Apparently, the reading would have to wait.

Folding over the corner of her current page, she set the book down on the counter in front of her and dipped her head briefly in acquiesce. 'Yes.'

Undeterred by her reticence, he pushed on. 'So, what's that like? I've a nephew who's got his mind dead set on it. His father wants him to carry on the business, you know, but he's a stubborn one. Known since he could barely walk.' He chuckled. "Why, I remember when he was just little…'

Meg was used to fielding questions about her work; people were always fascinated with the RCMP. Most had a story or two about some cousin in training or a childhood musical ride. Resigning herself to a long conversation, she sat back and listened with half an ear, paying just enough attention to smile and nod when required.

In truth, she didn't really mind the distraction.

When the RCMP had been exhausted, the subject turned to local business (tourist season was going well), weather ('been clear for a week now') and northern life in general. After learning that Meg had never been to Inuvik before, Doug was more than happy to sing its praises and even offered to point out the best spots for fishing when the ice broke—assuming she was staying that long, of course. He paused expectantly.

Meg cleared her throat. 'Thank you, that's…very kind of you to offer but I'm not…my travel plans are…uncertain.'

He flashed her a crooked grin. 'Sure. Anytime. So, where'ya from?'

'I'm stationed in Quebec,' she said stiffly, characteristically ill at ease discussing her personal life.

Doug refused to take the hint. 'Quebec, eh? Lived there your whole life?'

Reluctantly, Meg admitted that she had in fact been born in the Yukon.

'Well, so you're a northerner then!' He looked delighted.

'Was, at one point.' She shook her head ruefully. 'I haven't…this is my first visit since I left school.'

'It never leaves you, you know. Gets in the blood.' He leaned forward and with gusto, began to recite:

'The freshness, the freedom, the farness—O God, how I'm stuck on it all!'

She smiled faintly. 'Robert W. Service.'

He nodded towards the book, which sat abandoned in front of her. 'He sure knew his stuff. You a fan?'

'In high school, yes. But it's been a while.'

'Yeah? The only part of English I could—' He stopped abruptly and shifted his gaze over her shoulder. A moment later, Meg heard the chime over the door tinkle as it swung open. Doug's face broke into a large grin.

'Benton!'

Meg froze.

_It couldn't be._

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_A/N: Yes, I know it's late. looks sheepish. This was originally going to be part of a longer chapter, but I thought it would be better off on its own. More to come as soon as possible._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

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'Good afternoon, Mr. Ferguson.'

There was no mistaking that voice.

Under the pretext of re-packing her book, Meg turned to grab her bag, shooting a quick glance at the door as she went. One look was enough to confirm what she already knew instinctively.

It was him.

_Fraser. The man who had caused her so much extra work during her time in Chicago, who had infuriated her to no end with his naivety and idealism, seeing good in every drug dealer and petty thief. The man who had disobeyed countless orders and spent more time working for the Chicago PD than for the consulate…And the man over whom she'd been losing sleep since that kiss, the first and last time he'd really looked at her, not as a superior officer, but as a person._

As a woman.

Busying herself with the straps, she studied him through lowered lashes.

_The same dark hair that always reminded her of some sort of animal pelt, that always looked so thick and inviting, that she always wanted to run her hands through. The same mouth that, with a twitch or a thoughtful frown or a lift of one corner, could say more than any words. The same broad shoulders, without the uniform, but just as well defined through his white cable-knit sweater and navy RCMP-issue coat. The same grey-slate blue eyes that were currently—thankfully—not looking her way but at his hands (oh, his hands) from which he was carefully removing a pair of tanned-hide gloves._

Just then, the object of her observations cleared his throat, bringing her back to her senses. Heart suddenly, inexplicably racing, she spun back to face the counter before he could recognize her.

'I'm here to pick up—'

'Oh, you're here for Meg!' Frozen in place, her sack halfway to her lap, Meg watched in alarm as Doug waved an arm in her direction. 'Meg, this is Corporal Benton Fraser. One of the finest officers in the territories.'

_Oh, so he's a corporal now_, a part of her brain noted absently as she turned and with a suddenly dry mouth, cut off Doug's introduction.

'We've met.' Risking a glance up, she found herself staring directly into a pair of familiar eyes. She thought she saw a flash of surprise and…something else, before being shut out by an equally familiar pokerfaced gaze—one she hated for its bland, politeness, and because she knew it meant he was hiding something.

'Have you, now?' Doug sounded thrilled.

Still staring at her with that unreadable Mountie mask, Constable—Corporal— Benton Fraser, the man who had monopolized her thoughts for three years now, nodded slowly.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

'Coffee?' Doug, oblivious to the tension, held out the pot invitingly.

Fraser started slightly, and both shook their heads, but it was Meg who looked away first. She always had, even as his superior officer. When he wanted, Fraser could stare straight into a person's mind. She'd been on the receiving end of that sharp gaze often enough to know. Suddenly conscious of her messy hair and old cowichan sweater—and the fact that he was still staring—she turned to Doug.

'Const—Corporal Fraser and I were both stationed in Chicago at one point. At the Canadian consulate. He…I was…that is, we were colleagues.' Aware that she was babbling, she flushed and shut her mouth. There was silence from Fraser's side of the room and she resisted the temptation to glance over.

'That so?' He sounded impressed. 'It's always nice to meet a friend of Benton's.

'Yes, well,' she paused, having no idea what to say in reply.

Mercifully, Fraser chose that moment to break in with a polite cough.

'Mr. Ferguson? Ah…we should probably be on our way.'

'Right, right. Off with you then.' He turned to Meg, 'Enjoy your trip, ma'am.'

'Thank you.' She grabbed her bag, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the man behind the counter. 'It was nice to meet you Mr. Ferguson.'

'Doug.'

'Doug,' she amended with a weak smile.

Without a word, Fraser opened the door and gestured at her to exit first. Then he turned and tipped his Stetson at Doug. 'Say hi to Laura and the kids for me.'

'You bet.'

'Thank you kindly.' Following Meg out into the cold, he shut the door behind them then immediately busied himself with his gloves.

Silently, Meg pulled on her own mitts and parka, her visible breaths seeming unnaturally loud in the frozen air. She was uncomfortably aware of the awkwardness of their situation; two years as his superior officer, a kiss, an order to forget said kiss, a sudden transfer to a classified assignment and then—nothing. She knew it had been wrong of her to leave without addressing their…situation, to lie about the reason for her transfer (_'I'm not all that well liked, Fraser. You know what they call me. They think I can do more back in Canada'_) and then, to make matters worse, being forced to literally disappear for a year as part of that assignment.

_But you don't know what he feels. He could have moved on. Yes,_ a little voice in her head whispered,_ that's it; he's found someone else. A nice woman who can give him children and a warm home and is never sharp or angry or—_

Stop it, she scolded herself._ You're an RCMP Inspector for God's sake. Act like one. Say something…ask about the weather, his post, his promotion. Anything._

She opened her mouth.

'So—'

'Sir—'

Fraser smiled faintly and gestured to her. 'Sorry, you first.'

'No, it's fine,' she shook her head. 'Go ahead, Fras—Corporal.'

He looked at her searchingly for a moment then nodded. 'Sir, I was not aware when they asked me to come that you were the officer in question,' he began carefully, 'I am sorry if I…if this situation…'

'No,' she cut in sharply. 'No, it's fine.' She winced internally—_is that the only thing you can say?_—and tried to soften her tone. 'Thank you…for coming. I'm sure you had other duties to attend to.'

'It was no trouble.'

She nodded slowly a couple of times, absently tracing a line in the snow with the toe of her boot. Meanwhile, he stared intently at the mountain ridge behind her as if it were absolutely fascinating. She wouldn't be upset to see it burst into flames.

If only they were back in Chicago. Back in her office with their roles laid out clearly before them so she could dismiss him and bury herself in work and go back to ignoring the fact that he was sitting just outside her door. If only she could send him for coffee or dry cleaning all would be right in the world.

Why had she come here again?

_Sue. You're here to visit **Sue**. That's all. Now why don't you find out how you're going to accomplish that._

Struggling for her usual professional tone, she spoke again, briskly. 'Shall we be going?'

Snapping his eyes back to her face, he nodded quickly. 'Right. Ah…there's only one snowmobile, I'm afraid,' he said apologetically.

She had already noticed the lone vehicle sitting by the side of the building, and didn't bother to reply, but just stowed her pack away with quick, practiced motions.

Coming up beside her, he checked to make sure everything was secure, then got on and handed her a helmet.

She nodded her thanks and slid it over the remnants of her French braid, tucking up the strands of hair that had slipped free. Then, after the slightest, almost imperceptible, hesitation, climbed up behind him and awkwardly wrapped her arms around the middle of his back. She felt him tense slightly through the thick wool of their combined clothing and forced her mind to concentrate on the amount of paperwork she'd left behind and not on the warmth of his back or the curve of his neck.

Thankfully, he turned the key as soon as she was settled, and as the snow banks and tundra blurred before her eyes she turned her head and let the wind cut across her hot face.

'It's approximately an hour to the local station,' he turned to call back over the howling wind and the noise of the engine. 'I assume that's where you wish to be taken.'

She nodded and he turned to face forward again, swerving just in time to avoid a steep bank. The sudden motion threw her forward and into the blue of his jacket, her nose ending up mere inches away from the back of his head. They both tensed this time and she ground her teeth together in silent frustration and embarrassment and slowly shifted her weight back, bracing her legs against the sides of the machine. He didn't react, but the snowmobile slowed to a more cautious pace and he kept his eyes firmly on the ground before them for the rest of the long ride.

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**A/N: Yes, yes, I know. Life is busy right now. But reviews are good motivation… **


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